


In the Corner of His Eye

by CaptainOzone



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Dark, Gen, Horror, Insanity, POV Uther Pendragon, Psychological Horror, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was a weed. It was a curse. And it was cruel. When you bargain your soul, it may have even been deserved."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Corner of His Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on ff.net, 10/30/2013. Inspired by Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and written to fulfill this Halloween prompt: Classic Horror (basically - write a fic inspired by the tropes, supernatural creatures, and/or classic literature associated with Halloween, horror, and stuff like that)

It took some time.

Like any acorn that falls during the autumn, like any seed that lies dormant and hidden throughout the winter, it took time for the fiery, powerful rays to illuminate and stimulate it. It took time for it to take root, and it took time for it to germinate and grow.

It might have rose with the spring, but it brought no hope with it.

It was so obvious that no one saw it, for the illusion was only skin deep. Perhaps it should be said that the false illusion of spring was all that the people of Camelot knew, and because of this, they are not necessarily to blame. Even so, the sad tale of it is…even if someone _had_ seen, it would have done no good because the only one who had the potential to see was too blind to do anything about it.

The only one who had the potential to see the full truth, however, also had no choice in the matter.

By the time the illusion was completely shattered and he opened his eyes, it was too late. It was no mighty oak that sprouted from this acorn. It was no flowering fern that erupted from this seed.

It was a weed. It was a curse.

And it was cruel.

When you bargain your soul, it may have even been deserved.

~…~

When Uther began to notice it from the corner of his eye, he thought nothing of it. He was king, after all, and kings led stressful lives. It wasn’t the first time his exhaustion had made his vision blur to such a degree that the lines of the recent tax report blended together, and it was not the first time he thought he saw something that truly wasn’t there.

It happened to everyone with sleep deprivation around this time of night, and it really didn’t help that the princeling was _wailing_ again.

He didn’t even check twice. He simply rubbed his eyes, grumbling irritably to himself about the splitting headache the baby’s cries were inducing, and after hollering at his servant to get the bloody nursemaid already, he collapsed onto bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

He had a big day tomorrow, after all.

The Purge was about to begin.

~…~

_Her face is as pale as the pillow upon which she laid, and her golden hair, soaked with sweat, spills across the white linen. She trembles with exhaustion, and blood-coated hands weakly, so weakly, reach forward toward the woman who pulled the prince from her. There is so much blood. More than Uther would have thought possible. More than…more than was normal._

His _face tells him as much. As does_ hers _._

_Uther chooses to ignore them, and he grasps his queen’s hand..._

~…~

He always loved this balcony.

On this balcony, he was truly a king. His people were below him, and to see him, they _had_ to look up. From this balcony, justice reigned, and he appeared strong. From this balcony, he looked upon the sea of people— _his people_ —who came to witness greatness, and not only his greatness but also _their_ greatness. Camelot’s greatness.

He looked every inch a king, from the polished boots to the scarlet cloak on his shoulders to the gleaming crown that adorned his brow. With the prince safe inside and with all other pressing matters of court left behind in the council chambers, he felt free to allow himself a small smile.

This was what victory tasted like, and victory was _sweet_.

As the drums began to beat, he realized that he would never cease loving this balcony, for on this balcony, he was King Uther Pendragon _. Uther Pendragon, Magic-slayer,_ they whispered across the city.

When he stepped forward and raised his arms, he felt a thrill at the hush that fell over the crowd. For a moment, he stared down at them imperiously before lifting his gaze to the wooden cage that slowly began to part the crowds.

Even from this height, he could see the man’s dark glare. Rags hung from his gaunt frame, and strings of greasy hair clung to his hollowed cheeks. From his ankle trailed a thick black cuff inscribed with runes of the ancients, indicating to all his status as a practitioner of magic, the lowest of the low in _his_ kingdom. However, despite the man’s filth and apparent malnourishment, both a testament to the long weeks spent alone in the dungeons, and despite the shame of having been caught with magic, he held himself like a lord, tall and proud.

Defiant to the end.

This one would never change.

Once the wooden cage reached the pyre in the center of the courtyard, the drums went silent, and Uther saw the ripple in the crowd as the prisoner was shoved from the cage and onto the execution stage. The man stumbled and fell, eliciting hoots of laughter and hisses from the more rowdy people in the crowd. He was on his feet again in no time, and as the guards forcefully gripped his shoulders and steadied him before the crowd, his eyes never once left Uther’s.

And Uther’s never once left his.

The king couldn’t help a small, triumphant smile from spreading across his lips. “This man,” he announced regally, “has been found guilty of practicing magic in Camelot. Five years ago, he was named a traitor to the crown for possessing such abilities, and after openly defying the laws of our glorious kingdom, he fled. For half a decade, we hunted him, having since named him as the mysterious leader of the Rebellion and one of our most wanted fugitives.

“But not even the last Dragonlord can escape the Purge.”

Below, Balinor gritted his teeth, and the people, who had only heard rumors of the mystery prisoner in their dungeons, began to gasp and whisper.

“It is only fitting that his powers be purged by the very element that he once commanded. The Dragonlord Balinor will die by fire.”

“You might be able to kill me,” Balinor shouted, his voice a growl, “but you’ll never break us!”

“Ah, but without its leader, how long will their spirits last, Dragonlord? What truly will become of your precious _Rebellion_?” Uther asked, a hint of derision in his voice.

Balinor inclined his head, and a hint of bitterness, regret, and pity invaded his dark eyes. “We will endure,” he croaked loudly. “And we will hold hope that someone will someday see you for the monster you’ve truly become. We will hope for the day that Emrys and the Once and Future King lead us to the future we _all_ wish to see!”

Sneering at the mention of the well-known myth, Uther did not even bother to respond with his usual mockery of the legendary figures, and he waved lazily to the guards, who began to drag Balinor up the pyre. The Dragonlord did not fight, but he did yell, “You were once a kind king. A great one. My dragon and I fought for you, don’t you remember, _Magic-slayer_?”

The crowd instantly hushed, and Uther paused, his jaw twitching.

Balinor’s voice lowered, and instead of malice, sadness colored his tone. “Now you are hardly a man worth fighting for.”

Uther ignored the odd feeling that settled over him and found a small part of him that pitied Balinor for trying to have the last say. Poor fool was fighting a losing battle. Against a _king_ nonetheless. “I would find solace in that your traitor wife and adopted family shall join you soon, Balinor.” Turning to the guards, he ordered, “Light the pyre.”

He didn’t turn back to watch, and Gaius, who had stayed at his right hand and had maintained a passive face, followed silently behind.

Despite the vast amount satisfaction that Uther felt, the sweetness of victory had a sour aftertaste.

That was the first time he acknowledged the flash in the corner of his eye, the first time he spun around to check…only to find Gaius raising his eyebrow and questioning, “My Lord?”

“It’s nothing,” Uther said, his eyes passing across the shining arms hanging on the wall. “Nothing at all.”

~…~

_“Uther, my love.”_

_There is blood everywhere, and yet she smiles as she whispers his name. That beautiful, beautiful smile. Uther returns the smile, but she suddenly cries out, her hand wrenching from his own and her angelic features warping with pain._

_Panicking, Uther demands, “What is happening?”_

_Ygraine whimpers, and blinking open half-dazed, half-dead eyes, she ignores her husband and reaches for_ her _again. The queen’s movements are jerky, urgent, and understanding_ her _queen’s unspoken desire,_ she _rushes to put the babe in Ygraine’s arms._

_Uther does not understand, and he stands in a rage. “Gaius! Go to her! Your queen is in pain.”_

_“…Sire…”_

_But Uther is not listening. He is watching the tenderness with which Ygraine holds the prince, their baby, their child…_

_~…~_

“Your son wishes to see you.”

“Tell him I’m _busy_ ,” Uther grumbled, not bothering to raise his eyes from his work. He had been up all night and was most certainly not in the mood to be bothered about trivial things like this.

Gaius sighed. “He misses you.”

“I cannot leave this another day, Gaius! Emrys is _real,_ and we have to put the word out. It doesn’t help that I’ve been working so hard to deny the Rebellion their legends. Damn Alvarr. _Damn him_! He had such a good time making a mockery of me before I extracted that information from him. He will pay.”

“Yes, Sire,” Gaius agreed wearily. “But your son—”

“—can live another day without me.”

“And how many days has it been that he’s lived without his father?”

Uther raised his eyes sharply. “Do not _dare_ presume that—”

The chamber doors were thrown open with such a loud clamber that the rest of Uther’s wrathful threat was drowned out. Both men whirled around to see the seven-year-old in question standing in the doorway, a crooked smile spreading across his face.

“Father!” he exclaimed happily, and in the blink of an eye and a flash of gold, the boy was at Uther’s side, tugging at his cloak and babbling as only a child could. “Father, Father! Gaius told me that I should wait, and Nurse told me I couldn’t come in here, but I told her that it was okay because I knew you would want to hear how my lessons have been going and how well I’ve been doing with the wooden sword you gave me and how well I’ve been riding! Master John says that I’m—”

By that point, Gaius had recovered from the shock, and the prince’s nurse came skidding in, huffing and puffing. Her face was beet red and full of mute terror. Uther himself stared at the little boy in front of him, numb and stunned, and he barely noticed the nurse apologizing and trying to take the prince away…

“Out.”

Everyone, even the excitable boy, froze at the sound of the king’s quiet voice.

Uther looked up from the now-glistening eyes of his son and glared. “YOU HEARD ME. OUT. GET THE HELL OUT.”

While Gaius and the nurse looked toward their shoes and took the prince’s hand in an attempt to tug him out quietly, the boy himself bit a trembling lip and said, “B-but Father, I thought—I thought…”

“Well, you thought _wrong_ ,” Uther fumed, his voice uncompromising and cruel. “I am the king, and you are the prince. You should know better, you stupid boy! I am trying to run the kingdom, and I have no time for this foolishness! So, I say again, OUT. Iwill come to your chambers later to discuss with you the meaning of duty and responsibility later.”

Uther missed how a single tear slipped from eyes that looked so much like Ygraine’s. He did not realize that he had underestimated the intelligence of his son, so he did not see those blue eyes gain years in that one moment.

He didn’t even hear the door close behind the three.

His eyes were trained on the water in his goblet, and as a shudder of dread possessed him, he took the goblet and threw it as hard as he could against the wall, spilling the damning water all over the floor.

The pitcher that stood by his elbow followed. Just for good measure.

He avoided looking into the puddles.

~…~

_Ygraine’s hands tremble as she gently brushes her fingertips across the baby’s little nose. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he, Uther?” she whispers._

_“He is,” he reassures, kneeling by her bedside again and following her fingers with his own._

_And he truly is. He’s beautiful, and Uther can hardly believe that he is theirs._

_The queen’s eyelids flutter. “My son. So beautiful. My Arthur.”_

_“Arthur,” Uther repeats, and he promises there and then that nothing will ever harm this child under his watch. He will protect him with his dying breath._

_“Arthur.” Her voice is no more than an exhale._

_Her last exhale._

~…~

“You mean to tell me,” Uther began slowly, his pale eyes narrowed and his voice trembling with rage, “that you _lost them?_ ”

To his credit, the thirteen-year-old prince did not flinch. His eyes, however, flashed to Sir Leon, who stepped forward to speak. “Sire, these were no simple Druids,” the young knight said carefully. “They were advanced sorcerers of the Rebellion.”

“And?” Uther demanded.

Leon swallowed and explained, “We—we would have needed more men, Sire, to defeat them all, let alone capture our targets. Though Arthur fought well and led with honor, this was only his first true mission, and he—”

“Excuse me for a moment, Sir Leon,” the king interrupted. “Were you not the one who said that Arthur was ready?”

The prince winced at the unforgiving tone, and Leon himself looked as though he was struggling not to stare at his boots. “Yes, my Lord.”

“What was it you said, Sir Leon?” Uther mused. “You said, ‘Arthur is _more_ than ready to lead a successful mission,’ did you not?”

“It was. I stand by that. Arthur saved us all from getting slaughtered today.”

After scanning Leon for an uncomfortable length of time, Uther said, “Go. I wish to speak to my son alone.”

Leon glanced to the prince, who dared not acknowledge the knight, and he left with a surprising hesitancy.

It was only after the door closed that Uther said bluntly to Arthur, “You failed.”

The prince’s head dropped for a moment, but after clenching his jaw, he looked up through blond lashes, his eyes defiant. “There were more than our spies anticipated. We couldn’t have beat them, so I called a tactical retreat.”

“No, you _let them escape._ ”

“Our men would have—”

“Arthur!” Uther snapped. “Do you realize what you have _done?_ We had the last Dragonlord’s wife within our grasp! She’s the one who keeps the Rebellion’s spirit alive. She and the one they call Emrys. They were _there. Both of them_.After _years_ of false trails and dead ends, we finally had them, AND YOU LET THEM GO.”

“If I hadn’t, you would have lost Balinor’s wife, Emyrs, _and_ your knights. I chose to act,” Arthur said strongly, his eyes flashing. “We can find those two again; we cannot reclaim dead knights.”

Uther hissed, lunging forward and grabbing the front of his son’s cloak and dragging him forward. “Don’t lie to me! Do not pretend that you were not a coward! Sir Ector told me you had two of the enemy at your mercy! He told me that you had one of their women and her sorcerer whelp at sword point. He told me that you hesitated and that. You. Let. Them. Go.”

Instead of killing the fires in his son’s eyes, Uther’s words merely made them blaze brighter. “Fine. Maybe I am a coward. Maybe I couldn’t kill the woman or the boy. Maybe I _wouldn’t_. I don’t know.”

“You disobeyed orders! I told you to take down as many as you could.”

“They were _defenseless._ ”

“From what I heard from Ector, that boy was far from _defenseless_.”

“He…he didn’t want to fight, Father. I saw it. He was—he didn’t hurt anyone. None of them did, don’t you see? They looked as weary and sick of this war as we are! I truly don’t think they are our enemies!”

Red tinged Uther’s vision, and before he knew it, he struck Arthur across the face.

Arthur stumbled, his hand unconsciously reaching to touch his swelling eye and jaw.

“Magic is _evil_ ,” Uther yelled into his son’s face. “And you would do well to remember it! Those with magic are not human, and they do not deserve any right to live in this world!”

“You don’t mean that.”

Uther paused. “ _What_?” he asked in a deadly whisper.

Arthur spat on the ground, trying to rid his mouth of blood. “If there was one thing I learned today from that sorcerer boy who tried to give himself up for his magic-less mother,” he said, “it is that those with magic are just as human as we are.”

The silence that ensued was deafening, and father and son stared at each other. Arthur’s face was bruised, and his split lip was still bleeding. Even so, Uther felt no pity, no regret, and coldly, he said, “Get out of my sight.”

“Gladly.”

After Arthur left, Uther turned around and caught sight of that ever-present flicker in the corner of his eye.

And he stopped dead in his tracks, his heart constricting and rising to his throat.

It was not his reflection in the looking glass. The man in the mirror wass covered with ghastly burns, its charred flesh flaking and blackened to a crisp. Black and purple bruises discolored the skin of the neck. The sneer on its lips twisted the entire face into a demonic expression of perverse pleasure, and from its clawed fist, blood dripped steadily.

On its head rested a crown of decaying bones, and its eyes…

Pale green eyes. Alight with devious glee.

“No,” Uther choked. “No, I—I didn’t…I—I…”

The screams of the burning, the choking of those who had the noose put around their necks, the blood spilt…

It smiled at him and winked.

Unable to breathe, Uther blinked, and it was gone, replaced by his own reflection once more.

Uncooperative fingers jerked, and blood slid down his palm. He stumbled back—away, _far away,_ from the mirror—and he realized what he had done.

_He_ was the one who had failed.

~…~

_Ygraine’s arms go lax, and_ she _is there to catch the baby before he can topple from his mother’s embrace..._

_No. No, it—it can’t…_

_All the little signs are so clear now. So obvious. Gaius,_ Nimueh _…the blood. There is so much blood. So much._

_“Y—Ygraine,” Uther says, brushing his fingertips across her cheek. The eyelashes flutter once, but those sapphire eyes slide closed. “No! Ygraine!” Uther shouts, his voice breaking. “No! Stay with me, Ygraine!”_

_His queen does not respond, and Uther rounds on Gaius. “Do something!”_

_Gaius merely shakes his head. “I—I am sorry, Sire. There was nothing we could do.”_

_“No,” Uther denies. “No! I refuse to believe that. You said she was healthy! You said the birth would go smoothly! And you!” He points to_ her _. “You have magic. Save her. I command you, as your king, to save her!”_

She _exchanges a look with Gaius and shakes her head. “Uther,”_ she _whispers, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I am so sorry.”_

_The baby—Arthur, Ygraine named him Arthur—begins to cry, and holding Ygraine’s dead body in his arms, Uther breaks._

~…~

It never went away. Now that he knew it was there, it stalked him like a shadow, and it was _always_ there, lingering in the corner of his eye. He lived in constant fear of seeing it, yet despite his best efforts to make it _leave_ …. Even if his paranoia and hatred of magic grew, even if the fires still burned and nooses still tightened, even if there were more cases of falsely accused people as of late, he was _good_ ; he truly was.

The guilt that ate away at him gave way to a stronger, more caring relationship with his son. He never once raised a hand against him—no, never again, because he was going to be _good,_ he swore it, just as he swore to protect Arthur sixteen years ago. Though they never truly saw eye to eye, though Uther could never prove Arthur sabotaged their own missions, and though Arthur never once spoke another word in defense of magic since that day three years ago, he _knew_ , but it was easier to pretend otherwise. They still bantered, they laughed, and they dined together. Morgana had joined their family, for a family they were. Uther made sure to praise each of them more often, even though he could not stop himself from losing his temper when his plans concerning magic failed.

Not that there were all that many true missions now. The Rebellion seemed to have died down in the past few years, but that didn’t stop him from sending out patrols to hunt down sorcerers and sympathizers.

That didn’t stop the trials and the executions and the mysteriously escaped prisoners.

But he _was_ good. Truly.

He had taken Morgana in two years ago and did not disapprove of her friendship with her maid. He did not disapprove of Arthur’s growing friendship with Gaius’ lad—the odd lanky boy whom the physician had taken on as an apprentice. The one whose mother died of fever. No, he subtly encouraged it, for young Guinevere and Merlin made his children smile, and those smiles were enough.

They seemed to drive it away.

For awhile.

It always came back. Always.

And for every smile that warmed his heart, for every smile that reminded him he was human, that he could change, that he was _good_ , there was a sin to nullify it all.

He couldn’t stop sinning, and every time, the demon would return to goad him and mock him with its smirk and ugly, contorted face, which only seemed to grow uglier and more contorted every time Uther saw it.

Mirrors were banned from his castle, and he hardly wore his polished armor anymore if he could help it. Yet sometimes, he found himself _looking_ for it, as if dependent upon its presence.

Whenever he began this stage of the never-ending cycle of dread, fear, and addiction, the thrill was exhilarating, and the moment he discovered he could see it whenever he wished, he didn’t _want_ to be good.

Why be good when it felt so _good_ to be bad?

Whenever Arthur and Merlin’s laughter echoed down the corridors, whenever he caught Arthur staring at Guinevere, whenever he thought he saw Merlin and Morgana share covert looks, and whenever Gwen and Morgana came in with flushed faces after a days’ ride, however, he remembered.

He _was_ good. _Truly_ good.

_I am_ _good_. _Truly_ , he chanted to himself as he watched his kingdom begin to fall apart at the seams.

~...~

_Uther clutches Ygraine’s body to him and sobs. His fingers brush through the golden hair framing her beautiful face over and over again, and he speaks. He doesn’t know what he says to her, but he says it over and over again, with every stroke of her hair._

_With every stroke of her hair, he remembers. He remembers the days spent together and the promises of days to come, never to be fulfilled._

_With every stroke of her hair, he understands. She is gone. It is all gone, and she is not coming back. Arthur will have no mother…and he, no wife, no queen, no love._

_With every stroke of her hair, he realizes. He realizes what and who it was that did this. He realizes that he is not alone, and he raises his eyes to the physician and the sorceress._

She _did this._

_Uther can barely contain his rage, but somehow, he manages to gently arrange Ygraine into a peaceful position on her bloodstained bed and stands tall._ “You _are to blame for this!” Uther hisses, addressing the woman. “You said you could help us create an heir! You said—”_

_“Uther, please,”_ she _begs, handing the crying babe to Gaius so that her hands would be unhindered._ She _holds them before her in a placating manner, and her own tears make her words nearly indistinguishable. “I told you of the price, but I did not know it would be this costly. Please. Ygraine was my friend. I never wanted this.”_

_“LIES!” Uther screams, lunging forward. “You planned this, witch!”_

_Gaius suddenly materializes between the pair of them, and he shouts over the baby’s cries, “No one could have foreseen this tragedy! See reason, Uther!”_

_“I should have seen reason long ago,” Uther agrees with a snarl, hatred bubbling in his soul._

_~...~_

“I knew you would come.”

Uther stared at the back of the old man and said bluntly, “You betrayed me, Gaius.”

Gaius turned slowly to face him. “I did what I felt was right.”

Hissing, Uther darted from the physician’s doorway and grabbed the old man by the throat. “Right?! No, no, you didn’t do what was right. First, you harbor Emrys, then you help Emrys _escape_ , and then you allow him to take my children with him.” He chuckled without humor, his voice rising to an unnatural pitch. “And right under my very nose too. How _clever of you_.”

Gaius struggled under the harsh grip and glared at Uther with a fire that had been long absent from his eyes. “I could not watch him die by your hand.”

“It was your duty, physician!” Uther spat. “Have you forgotten your oaths to me? Have you forgotten how long I spent hunting for _that monster_?”

“Don’t you _dare_! Merlin is a son to me!”

“Arthur _is my son_ , and you allowed Emrys to enchant him. You took him away from me. Him and Morgana both!”

An unnatural darkness crossed Gaius’ expression. “No, Uther. Your children were not enchanted. They went willingly. You will find a note from them—in your chambers.”

Uther froze, but the words—he wondered if he had half-expected to hear them because there was no surprise, only a flood of pain that he had been trying to contain within a dam of his own making. “You lie. Arthur…Morgana—they would _never_ …”

“But they would.”

“My children would never betray me!” Uther roared, hoisting Gaius up again by the neck. “They would never willingly befriend someone cursed with magic, not if they had known!”

“They did know,” Gaius croaked. “From the beginning. The very beginning.”

Bright red began to tinge Uther’s vision, and from the corner of his eye, he saw it, dancing in the firelight and reflecting off the surface of every gleaming vial in these accursed chambers. With a cry, he flung the physician from him and cradled his head in his hands.

“They knew Merlin was Emrys,” the old man rasped. “And they knew that Arthur was the Once and Future King.”

Legends he once mocked, prophecies he once scorned as unrealistic fantasies, myths he once thought were designed as propaganda for the Rebellion…

His son. His Arthur.

Allied with Emrys. Allied with _them_.

One of them.

The flesh-charred demon in the corner of his eye smirked at him, blood dripping from its filed fangs. It smirked because it knew how stupid Uther was to fool himself into believing that Arthur and Morgana truly believed as he believed. It smirked because Uther tried to make them a family when there was far too much dividing them. It smirked because while Uther was in his own little world, Arthur and Morgana had sensed the monster inside and decided to do something about it.

“Now it will never leave me,” Uther murmured.

“What?”

“It will never leave now. My sins. My regrets and guilt. Never. It is always there and will always be. Without them—”

Gaius’ gaze softened. “You can still change.”

Slowly, Uther raised his head, and in acknowledgment of the beast of his reflection all around him, a strange grin started to spread across his face. “No, you don’t know. You can’t see it. You don’t know it. It doesn’t stalk you every day and every night like it does me. You haven’t tried to get rid of it only to realize that you want it there with you every time you get one step closer to seeing it gone.”

“Uther…”

“My world was so perfect, Gaius,” Uther mused, ignoring Gaius. “My family, my kingdom…and now look at me. What do you see?” When Gaius, now looking afraid, did not respond, Uther’s grin twisted into a demonic scowl. “Look at me! What do you see?” he yelled.

Gaius backed himself into one of his tables. “Th—they are coming back, Uther. Arthur and Morgana just want to see Merlin to safety, and afterwards, they will come back because they _love_ you, faults and all. They want to help you see. As do I! Because you know what do _I_ see? I see a man who can repent, Uther. You can still repent.”

The words hardly registered in Uther’s mind. He was too taken by the murderous glint in his reflection’s eyes in the blade of a knife lying nearby. “You could have saved Ygraine. But you did not. You could have stepped in at any time to pull me back when I went to far. You had the power to slap some sense into me, to stop me from promising my soul. Instead, you let me do as I bid. You let me make the bargain.”

“I—I—”

Uther took a step closer to Gaius. “You know what I see, Gaius?”

“No, My Lord,” the old man whispered meekly.

“I see what you made me.”

And he plunged the knife into Gaius’ neck.

~…~

_“Uther, it is not I who chooses who lives and who dies!”_ she _cries. “The Old Religion—!”_

_“That’s right,” Uther snarls. “Magic. Your Old Religion did this. I will never forgive this, Nimueh. For what you’ve done, you and your kind are no longer welcome in Camelot. Guards!”_

_Gaius looks about ready to interject, but he steps back when the guards rush in. In response to the order of “Seize her!”, Nimueh’s eyes spark with gold, and her spell erects a barrier between her and everyone else in the room. She is not quick enough, however, and one of the guards slips through her defenses and grabs her forcefully by the arm. After yanking her arm and finding herself unable to break free, she hisses to Uther, “Consider what you’re doing.”_

_“You have murdered your queen with your supposed craft, and I will hunt you—and everyone like you—until this world is safe from the Old Religion’s hatred and cruelty because no one—no one…”_

_Nimueh’s harsh blue eyes shatter when Uther’s voice cracks in his pain, and she closes her eyes. “Is this how it is going to be?”_

_“Bear witness,” Uther whispers, his eyes trailing to the body of his wife. “I swear on Ygraine’s body and the love I still bear her and the child she will never know—I swear that I will not rest until magic is eradicated from this land.”_

_“Is that your wish, Pendragon?” Nimueh asks in a strangely hollow voice._

_“Yes.”_

_Nimueh crumples in the guard’s arms. “Then the Mirror did not lie,” she murmurs under her breath. “I am sorry for what is to come.” Tears cling to her eyelashes, and when her eyes flash gold, no one can stop her from disappearing into the night._

She is never seen again.

 ~…~

Uther stumbled down the dark corridors. Held loosely from his hand was a chopping knife, wet and slick with the blood of its owner. His clothes were splattered with the stuff, and he wrinkled his nose against the coppery scent.

It was everywhere, really.

He did not know where his feet led him, but somehow, he found himself in front of that lonely tower, the tower that had been vacant since Nimueh fled. The tower of the Court Sorcerer.

The door of the tower was open, and it called to him. His own laughter rang in his ears, and trembling—with anticipation, with fear, Uther couldn’t tell—he eased himself into the room…

…and came face to face with the Mirror. He’d recognize it anywhere. From the Druidic inscriptions running along its golden edge to the pearl tripod upon which the long oval glass rested, he recognized every inch it, for he had seen it so many times.

Perhaps most recognizable, however, was not Nimueh’s scrying Mirror itself but the reflection that stared back at him.

Uther crumbled before the representation of his sins. Murder, hypocrisy, abuse, greed, neglect, cruelty, torture…He had destroyed families. He had ruined lives. He had taken more. He had killed those faithful to him and ostracized those he considered friends. He had nearly ruined his kingdom and trampled on his family. He had hunted, cheated, and lied.

Arthur and Morgana’s faces swam before his eyes. Gaius—dear old Gaius…and Merlin, the idiot boy who never ceased smiling, the cheery boy who once shared a smile or two with Uther, despite…despite…

_Emrys and the Once and Future King. The Golden Age was on the horizon._

There was no going back now. There never was.

_Ygraine, I am so, so sorry._

“What have I done?” Uther gasped, his heart threatening to burst from his chest or crawl up his throat. A single tear slipped from his eye. “What—what have I _done_?”

The demon’s smirk deepened in response.

“And what is it that _you_ have done?” Uther whispered.

Inverting the knife in his hand, Uther stabbed the Mirror, directly through the heart of his inner demon.

Glass shattered, and the king fell to the ground, the knife rolling from his fingers. Pale green eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling, and all around him, fragments of the Mirror reflected the blood pooling around his dead body.

The demon was nowhere to be seen.


End file.
